The Case of the Disappearing Lunchbox

Pim had a lunchbox.

It was blue, with a yellow lid. It had a sticker of a rocket on the side, because Pim had once been very into rockets. (Pim was now into detective work, but the sticker was still there, slightly peeling at one corner.)

On Tuesday, Pim went to the cloakroom to get his lunchbox.

His lunchbox was not on its hook.

There was a different blue lunchbox there. The lid was the wrong shade of yellow. There was no rocket sticker. The sandwich inside was — Pim peeked — a cheese sandwich. Pim had asked for ham today.

This was very serious. This was a case.

Pim got out his notebook. He wrote at the top of a fresh page:

Case Number 4: The Disappearing Lunchbox.

He wrote three things underneath:

1. My lunchbox is gone.
2. There is a wrong lunchbox here.
3. Therefore, somebody took mine and left this one — probably by accident.

He closed his notebook. He sat down on the bench in the cloakroom and looked at the row of lunchboxes very carefully. There were thirty-six of them. They were almost all blue. Most had yellow lids. Pim's class had unfortunate taste in lunchboxes.

But Pim had one important clue. The wrong lunchbox in his hand had a name written underneath, in tiny pencil. The name said:

Marek.

"Aha," said Pim.

He went to find Marek.